


I'll Be There For You

by hellokhaleesi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, Caretaking, Drabble, F/M, Friendship, Pre-Relationship, Wolf Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellokhaleesi/pseuds/hellokhaleesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite past differences, Peter and Lydia both have demons and... well, a little companionship never hurt anybody, did it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be There For You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over the course of about 4 hours and thus it might be a little... all over the place. I canne control da muse.

Lydia was so exhausted.

The latest supernatural crisis in the small town of Beacon Hills had left her falling asleep at the vet’s well into the late hours of the night. Stiles and Derek had done their customary snapping and snarling and Scott had - unsuccessfully - tried to mediate while the good doctor rolled his eyes a lot. The addition of Kira and Malia diffused some of the tension, even if Malia’s definition of socially acceptable was a little skewed. Against all the odds, Lydia liked her. She was straight talking and straight to the point. Kira was nervous and eccentric but damn good with her katana, and Lydia took a liking to her, as well.

She all but tore the band from her hair, letting it fall loose down her back as she shrugged off her jacket. There was nothing she wanted more than to just slip into bed and relax, but the all too familiar sound of heavy breathing and a wet nose at the back of her legs told her she wasn’t in for such a treat.

“Really, Peter?” she groaned, finding the large grey and black wolf sat on it’s haunches behind her. He looked up at her with big eyes, all innocent and playful.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you would be in if my mom found you up here?” she said, throwing her bag on the floor, more to herself than to him. “She’d call animal control, and you’d go straight to Deaton. Then, you’d have to transform and explain why you were in my room in your wolf form.”

Peter made a whining noise, lowering himself into a laying position, resting his giant head on his paws, looking up at her pathetically. She huffed out a laugh, kneeling down to his level, ignoring the way his tail started to move from side to side slightly. “You know,” she smirked, running her fingers through the fur on his head. “I bet you don’t have any clothes on under that coat either, so you’d have to do it naked.”

He jerked his head away from her hand, making another whining noise. “Oh, don’t look at me with that indignant face. It’d be your own fault.”

It had started maybe three months ago. Lydia had come home to find what could be described as an omen of death sat in her room, a terrifying mass of grey and black fur, eyes gleaming amber. Her first instinct had been fear, but she also knew that a slightly larger than normal dog was the least terrifying thing that had happened in recent years. So, she buried her hands into it’s coat, and heard the crackling of flame and the silent, hollow screams of a man trapped in his own immovable body for years. As the wolf rested his head in her lap, it became very clear what he needed; comfort. Lydia never thought she’d be in a position where she was talking absently and scratching behind the ears of Peter Hale as he got fur all over her room, but it became an almost frequent occurrence to find the wolf in her room at night. He was always gone by morning, the smell of dog all over her room, but the man himself disappeared.

They didn’t acknowledge it outside of her room, in fact, they barely acknowledged each other at all. But she could read him, even in his wolf form, like a first grade maths book. So once every few weeks, she’d fall asleep to the sound of his heavy breathing.

“Don’t tell me,” she said sarcastically. “it’s Malia.” There was, of course, no reply. “She was in a foul mood this evening; have you been bothering her again?”

There was another pitiful whining noise, and she laughed softly. Peter’s attempts to win his daughter over before she even knew who he was to her were… awkward, to say the least. No matter how many projects he offered to help with, meals he provided or how much advice he gave, Malia seemed stuck in her opinion of him, which was less than flattering.

Lydia grabbed a tank top and pair of cotton shorts out of her draws, and quickly changed in the bathroom. When she got back, he was still sat on her floor, like some supernatural guard dog. She slid into bed, sinking into the mattress, but he remained on the floor, dutiful as ever. It took only a few moments of his wide amber eyes staring at and she cracked. “Oh, what are you waiting for?” She patted the bed, and he happily jumped up onto her legs in a single leap.

She ruffled his ears as he shuffled up, stopping to rest his head on her stomach.

“You need to work something out with Scott or Stiles,” she reasoned, still threading her fingers through his fur. “because the longer you wait, the angrier she’s going to be, and we both know if she’s anything like her father, she’s going to terrible at working through emotions.”

She meant to put a little disapproval and scorn into her voice, but it came out more amused. Peter huffed out a breath, warm air tickling her arm. It was easy to forget that she was combing her fingers through the thick fur of a man who nearly killed her, went on a killing spree and reincarnated himself through her mind when he blinked slowly at her, nuzzling into her hand slightly. Truthfully, she enjoyed the nights where she could talk through his problems - and even her own - to his wolf, in the confidence that nothing she said would ever leave her room, mostly because Peter would never suffer the humiliation of people knowing he went to a seventeen year old for advice. It was calming.

“I don’t know, Hale, maybe getting your ears scratched just works for you as a coping method,” she shrugged lazily. “but it’s probably unhealthy. But, I can’t talk, I’m counseling a bloody werewolf.”

He nuzzled into her stomach, grunting softly, which might have been agreement or indignance, she wasn’t sure. She chuckled again, resuming her ministrations on his fur. They stayed like for a few minutes, his eyes closed, his breathing getting slower.

“Do you think this is weird?” she asked suddenly. His eyes snapped open again, eyeing her suspiciously. Without warning, he raised himself up onto all fours and howled softly. His tail wagged, and he dropped to bury his face in the side of her neck. She giggled, trying to stifle the sound with her hand but then he rolled onto his back, and she couldn’t help it. “Peter, I swear to God, I will not rub your belly.”

He rolled back, tongue lolling out of his mouth. She laughed again as he lay on his side, pressed up against her. She let her fingers playing with her fur once more as she reached over and turned the light off.

“She’ll let you be a dad to her one day,” she whispered in the darkness. “and I think you’ll be really good at it.”

If Peter pressed himself closer to her, she didn’t mention it. And, when the first streaks of pale Spring sunlight fell through the window and landed on her bed, and she woke up to find nothing but a few hairs and an indentation in the duvet, she closed her eyes and pretended not to notice the hollow and empty feeling it filled her with.

**~.~.~.~**

Whichever of her friends who decided that 9am was a good time for a meeting at Derek’s loft was going themselves short a few appendages. She’d be exhausted as it was after coming back from Deaton’s office, only to stay up another hour or so, listening to the rumbling sound of Peter’s breath as he fell asleep, wondering what the hell she was doing. The 7am wake up call on a Sunday had her on the war path, and by the way Stiles was hanging guiltily behind Derek - not a very well thought out plan really, as she was certain Derek would happily move out the way if she promised to maim Stiles - he was responsible.

“Is there a reason I got woken up at an ungodly hour or do you all just hate me?”

Stiles looked like he was about to say something sarcastic, so Scott jumped in. “Deaton called last night, we’ve found the cause of our problem.”

“Which is?”

“Me.” Peter sauntered around the corner, a cup of coffee in his hands, a lazy smirk on his lips. She wasn’t sure why it annoyed her so much, seeing him so calm and collected despite the fact that he had come to her the previous night with more problems than a leper and then proceeded to nuzzle into her like she was his damn carer. Maybe she was sleep deprived because she was certain that he never took his coffee that strong and it was all she could smell, and the way he plastered his best shit-eating grin on his face and held eye contact with her when he drank made her think it was on purpose.

“Oh, what a surprise,” she huffed. “who have you pissed off now?”

Maybe he was a masochist because he winked at her. “An old friend I met while travelling. Got into a bit of a scuffle some years back, and apparently the news of my reincarnation has reached his ears.”

_Typical_ , she thought drily. Scott’s sixth sense for tension seemed to be running at it’s highest sensitivity, because she saw him awkwardly shuffle his feet, mouth hanging open like he was searching for something to say. She saw Derek watching them with suspicious eyes just in her peripheral vision.

“Just what we need,” she snapped, ignoring the looks of Scott and Derek. “a vengeful werewolf with a long standing grudge.”

Stiles snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, another one.” Peter sent a foul look his way, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, sweetheart, if my problems are such an inconvi-” he started, but Scott cut him off.

“We just came here to see if you needed any help,” he said quickly. “because we know you’re not at full power still.”

Peter laughed. “Adorable. But I don’t need a bunch of seventeen year olds to sort my own problems out. Thanks for the heads up, though.”

At his words, Lydia saw red, fisting her hands until her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. She understood what it cost him and his undoubtedly overinflated ego to come to her for help, or support, or whatever it was that he needed, but to rub the nights she had spent lying awake listening to the sound of his wolf whining in his sleep in her face was a step too far. She was painfully aware that Derek’s gaze had gone from curious side eyes to full on bewildered stare, but she was tired and crabby and she didn’t care what the moody Hale thought of her.

“Seriously, dude,” Stiles chuckled. “you didn’t see the mess he made of this guy in the woods. This is one pissed off werewolf and you’ve got a neon target on your back. Sure you don’t want someone to stay here with you, just until we find him?”

“I don’t need some small town teenager with a saviour complex to hold my hand…” His voice trailed off, his eyes finding her as the gentle sound of her nails breaking the skin of her palms found his ears, the smell of the trickles of blood standing out among the clinical smell of the loft. Now Scott, Derek and Malia were all staring at her like she was fit for Bedlam, and Peter looked - if it was possible - nervous.

“Lydia?” he asked tentatively.

He didn’t even managed to enunciate the last syllable of name before she exploded. “Oh, you fucking _liar_!” The jaw of everyone in the room dropped to the floor at her outburst. The blood drained from Peter’s face at an alarming rate, his usual casual demeanor gone in the face of potential humiliation. “Do you have any idea how much of a _hypocrite_ you are?”

Even Malia, who was as subtle as a brick at the best of times, looked to Stiles for an explanation, but he had none. Derek was staring at Peter like he had just admitted to donating to a children’s charity and doing relief work and Scott just looked overwhelmed.

“Lydia?” Stiles said slowly, hands raised in surrender. “Got something to share with the class?”

She usually admired Stiles’ ability to maintain his level of sarcasm in the face of potential danger, but it just made her press her nails further into her palms again, hissing slightly at the pain but too angry to care otherwise. When Scott looked like he was about to speak, she snarled “fuck off” at them all and tore out of the lost like a bat out of hell. Even half way down the corridor without supernatural hearing, she heard the sound of Derek throwing his uncle into the nearest wall, demanding to know what he had done. It gave her a mixed sensation of satisfaction and anger; it was satisfying to hear the crunch of a wall under what was presumably Peter’s back but it made her angry to know she wasn’t responsible for it.

She threw herself into her car, resting her head on the wheel, searching desperately for a first aid kit. Her palms were truly quite painful, and the act of cleaning and bandaging them would distract her from the conundrum of why Peter Hale’s dismissal caused her such annoyance.

**~.~.~.~**

It was three nights before she heard from Peter again. Malia and Stiles had turned up in her room an hour after she had a minor breakdown at the loft, Malia bringing a bag with a bagel and a coffee in it, Stiles with praise for finally putting Peter in his place, even if he didn’t fully understand it. She’d received a text from Scott, asking if she was alright, and one from Derek, asking her to regale any information that he could potentially use to irritate his uncle.

Three nights after the incident, she was ready to put Peter and his hot-cold personality behind her. It had been a long day - AP Chemistry usually presented no problem but she’d been distracted and thermodynamics was just dull - and she was looking forward to a long bath and…

“Jesus Christ, Peter!” she yelled, almost dropping the towel she had, thanking whatever higher power had told her not to undress until she was in the bathroom. “What the hell? Do you get your kicks scaring me out of your wits or is this is a chore for you?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. "guess it’s just standard protocol for us now.”

“Standard protocol?” she snapped. “I thought you were mature enough to not need a seventeen year old to hold your hand.”

She regretted her words almost instantly when the initial shock of seeing him sat on her floor, his usual place, and actually looked at him. He was lacking his usual confidence, the self assurance that usually exuded from every pore almost gone without a trace. He looked tired, like he’d just woken up from a nap, and she had to wonder how long he had waited for her. The biting edge of her words made him look down shamefully, rubbing his hands over his face.

“After three months of me coming to you in the middle of the night in wolf form, you still didn’t notice that I’m not good with this whole talking about it thing?” he said humorlessly.  

She huffed, throwing the towel on the bed and taking a seat next to him, under her window. He looked momentarily thankful for the fact she hadn’t started screaming at her again, but quickly hid it with a small smile.

“Are you here to apologise for being a git or because you’re having another existential crisis?”

He laughed softly. “The former. I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to tell me what has you in my room - and in human form, no less - smelling like a brewery before the sun has even gone down?”

Peter groaned again, running his hands down his face. She let her head fall back against the wall, watching him as he seemed to struggle to find the words. It was unnerving, for the man was usually so quick-witted, with a sharp tongue and always happy to throw in his two cents. She could almost see the words forming in his throat, but fading by the time they reached his tongue. She gave him a nudge with her elbow, and he jumped, as if lost in his own world.

“I get that expressing your feelings isn’t a talent-”

“I thought I lost a friend.” he said shortly. “I thought they were gone and I didn’t know what to do.”

She hid the look of pity she knew much have been on her face. Peter had suffered more loss than she could contemplate, and he lived with it every day. The thought that he had to experience more of it made her want to rest her head on his shoulder and let him fume and rage silently in her room.

“I don’t have a lot of people left in my life, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” As he spoke, he stared ahead unblinkingly, not making eye contact with her. “I’m a reminder of all the horrific thing in Derek’s life, and he can barely stand to be in the same as me. I can feel the mixture of revulsion and pity from Scott, his damned moral compass pointing in the opposite direction of me. Stiles will never forgive me for what I did to you, Kira looks at me like a rabid dog off it’s lead. Malia… well, is Malia.” He groaned again, banging his head off her wall. “You’re the only person in this town who doesn’t look at me like I’m about to tear someone else’s throat out, and I thought you were gone.”

She chuckled softly at his mention of ‘someone else’s throat’, not knowing how to react to such nonchalance at the mention of literally murdering someone, but did a doubletake when she realised it was her who he thought he had lost. “Peter…”

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” he groaned. “That my life is such a fucking mess that the only person who comes close to tolerating my presence nearly died at my hand.”

“It was your teeth, actually.” she said quietly. His head turned slightly to look at her, his expression incredulous, but when he caught her eye he started laughing. And then she started laughing. And they sat on the floor in her room laughing until their stomachs hurt because he was right; everything was a mess.

She scooted closer to him so they were almost pressed up against each other, and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt him jolt slightly at the sudden contact, but his cheek came to rest on her head.

“You’re an idiot.” she laughed after a minute.

“What?”

“You, you’re an idiot,” she continued laughing softly despite the mock irritation in his voice. “if you had taken a moment to _think_ you wouldn’t have needed to try and drown yourself in a bottle.”

He shifted uncomfortably but she ignored it. “Scott has Kira and Stiles has Malia. Stiles used to have me, but he outgrew that. Then, I had Allison, and Aiden, and they’re both gone. Derek has… well, Derek has Derek, but he seems happy with that. Or, as happy as Derek can be.”

Peter snorted. “True. But, what’s your point?”

She lifted her head off his shoulder, staring at him incredulously. “I have no one either. Everyone has someone, but then, in some weird, messed up way, I kinda had you. If you stopped and thought about how going all ‘I’m Peter Hale and I don’t need anyone, roar, look at me’ was a bit like kicking me out, you might have saved us both a lot of irritation.”

There was a loaded pause. “I guess we’re both idiots then.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, slapping him on the chest. “I’m going for a bath. You going home or staying here?”

Her indirect invitation seemed to take him by surprise, but he recovered quickly. It made her smile; the old Peter was back. “I’ll stay. There’s only so much of Derek’s death glare I can stand.”

She bathed quickly. As much as she appreciated Peter’s friendship, she was painfully aware of his proximity to her underwear draw and his complete lack of tact and every minute she spent in the other room was a minute where something could inevitably go wrong. When she got back, he was flicking through her DVD collection.

“Pick something, it’s not like I have any plans for the rest of the evening.” she shrugged. “Preferably something sans romance.”

“You’re the only person I know who actually uses the word ‘sans’ in everyday conversation.” he shook his head. He thought about it for another moment, before turning around, ‘Liar, Liar’ in his hands.

“Classic Jim Carrey,” she nodded appreciatively. “the man has good taste in film.”

She fell back onto her bed, while he settled down, leaning against it. She found it odd, because he always slept in her bed, usually pressed up against her, and the only difference would be he wouldn’t get his damned fur everywhere. They managed to get a good fifteen minutes into the film before she cracked. “Okay, what are you doing?”

“Watching a film.”

“Why are you on the floor?”

He looked up at her, before shrugging and climbing on. She shifted out of the way so he could lay behind her, and they wordlessly watched the rest of the movie. The simple fact that she could feel his weight behind her was oddly comforting - but she wasn’t about to read too much into that. Nor did she read too much into the fact that that was the first morning where she woke up next to Peter, regardless of what form he took, and the first time she ever woke up with his arms around her, the music from the DVD menu playing on loop entwining with the sound of his breath against the back of her neck.

**~.~.~.~**

There was blood on her hands and her shoes and her legs from where she had slipped on the wet floor. She was shaking and shivering even though she wasn’t cold and all she could think about was getting through the door of the loft.

It opened before she could knock, Derek standing in front of her, utterly bewildered. He grabbed her by the arms and dragged her in, shutting the door behind her, leading her over the sofa.

“Lydia?” He was inches from her but his voice sounded like an echo, from miles away. “Lydia, whose blood is that?”

She shook her head, not sure herself. Even if she had know the girl whose body had been torn open and spread across the alleyway, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to identify her. But, the body was small. Petit. Her pink slip on shoes were closer to red, stained with blood, her blonde hair in a high ponytail. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old, and now she was dead and Lydia had had to scrape bits of her organs off of her shoes.

“I called Stiles,” she said mechanically. “then I called the police.” She looked up from the floor to Derek, who was watching her like she was a time bomb. “There was so much blood.”

Whatever Derek’s next words were going to be were drowned out by the sound of Peter thundering down the stairs, jumping the last three and making his way over to the sofa. Lydia got up, meeting him halfway, not caring that Derek was only feet away from them as she buried her face in his chest, desperately trying to keep it together. His arms came round her as she fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered into his chest, barely a breath, but confident he would hear it. “everybody is out trying to find the werewolf but there was so much blood and…” She took a deep breath, her lungs hurting with the effort of keeping herself from crying. “Peter, she was only a child.”

“Hey, hey, come on,” he muttered, lips pressed to the crown of her head. “they’ll find him.”

She took a few more deep breaths, leaning into him, ignoring the sensation of Derek’s eyes boring holes into her back. “I’m sorry, I thought he’d be with them.” she breathed, her eyes flitting back to the younger Hale.

A phone went off behind her, and she knew that it was Scott or Stiles messaging Derek about the body. She could practically feel his awkward, slightly shameful expression as he wordlessly went out the door. The second Peter heard the lock click, he tightened his grip on her, pressing her flush against his chest. She let go on his shirt, wrapping her arms around his waist before clutching the fabric at his back. The moment Derek left the room, she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, images of the poor girl with her throat missing, the blood still trickling down her cheek from where she had coughed it up invading her mind. Peter hadn’t said a word, just held her tighter and let her shake until she could breathe properly again.

“Shower, food, talk?”

She nodded, extracting herself from his grip, furiously wiping at her eyes. Taking a few composing breaths - Lydia Martin was many things, and ‘composed’ defined at least eight of them - she glanced up. Peter gave a half smile. “Bathroom is upstairs, second door on the right, there should be a towel in there. Cora left some clothes here, her room is next to the bathroom. Take what you need. Pasta okay?”

She blinked at the quickfire questions, but nodded. “Good. Don’t tell Derek I told you, but this is a bachelor pad, and all we have is toast and pasta. For the record,” he laughed, wandering off into the kitchen. “never let Derek make you toast. The boy is hopeless, like, how can you burn toast that badly? I have no idea.” His incredulous laughter trailed off as he went to start cooking, and she watched him go fondly, wondering when Peter became the only person who could make her smile after a day like the one she was having.

Less than half an hour later, she was sat on the sofa with her feet curled up underneath her with a bowl of pasta. She chewed each bite thoughtfully, feeling significantly cleaner and more refreshed in a borrowed Beacon Hills High netball t-shirt and pair of leggings. Her hair was still damp, hanging loose around her shoulders, her face make up free. Her phone was buzzing non-stop, mostly from texts from Scott and Stiles, asking if there was anything else she could tell them but she ignored them. Peter would scowl every time she got another one, but quickly turn his attention back to whatever crap was on TV. He’d claimed it was the best film for cheering anyone up, but Lydia was yet to find anything amusing about a film about alien abduction from 1964, perhaps besides Peter’s utter adoration of it.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, eyes still on the screen.

She shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about, really.” When he gave her a skeptical look, making a disbelieving noise at the back of his throat. “What? I mean it! What is there to say? How I feel about this? You know how I feel, I turned up at your door covered in blood and crying… oh, for the love of God!” She snatched her phone off the coffee table, groaning; 32 text messages and 11 missed calls.

“Did you know this is the third time I’ve had to text my mum to assure her I wasn’t the girl they found dead?” she said, to no one in particular. “This is such a messed up town. God, I do not want to go home tonight.”

“Then don’t.” he said simply.

“What?”

“Don’t.” he repeated. “Stay in Cora’s old room, tell your mom you’re at a sleepover or a party or whatever it is you tell your mother when you’re off saving the world.”

It was a tempting offer. She loved her mom, and she cared so much about her daughter, but sometimes that just made it worse, especially when Lydia couldn’t even explain why she was crying. “Won’t Derek have anything to say about that?”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “If Derek has anything to say, Derek will find himself short a few teeth.”

She slapped his arm disapprovingly, and he covered his heart in mock offense. A night away from the chaos, in the one place no one would come looking for her sounded… perfect. It was safe, quiet, and most importantly, she wouldn’t have to lie to her mother.

“If you can find a way to stop Derek from scowling at me for the next six months, I might just take you up on that.”

**~.~.~.~**   


It was just gone 3am when Lydia woke up, sweat pouring down her face. She sat bolt upright in bed with a yelp, taking a moment to remember where she was. She had always hated waking up in strange places, and the nightmare that had woken her up made it even worse, the unfamiliar room making her heart skip a beat. When she finally remembered where she was, she scraped the hair back off her face, trying to regulate her breathing.

The door burst open, and the familiar shape of a giant grey and black wolf ran in. In a single, graceful leap, he landed on the bed, instantly, pressing his large head against her neck, nuzzling her, making soft whining noises. Almost instinctively, she cradled his head with her hands, scratching at his fur lightly.

“Hey, don’t worry,” she soothed. “it was a nightmare, I’m not getting attacked.” He made a low growling noise into her neck, but nudged her face with his nose.

“Don’t take that tone with me.” she said shortly. Peter made another whining noise, and nudged her again, making her laugh. “You in or out?”

Without hesitation, he laid down next to her, putting himself between her and the door. Slowly lowering herself down back on to the bed, she smiled gratefully at him. He rested his head on his paws again, his chest rumbling when she tangled her fingers in his fur, and held him close to her. She didn’t have a single bad dream for the rest of the night.

**~.~.~.~**

“Peter?” Derek called out. It was just got 7am, and he was tired and hungry and his erratic and slightly annoying uncle had seemingly gone AWOL.

“C’mon, man,” he complained. “you always bitch when I make toast.”

Peter wasn’t in his room, the living room or the kitchen. He couldn’t hear the shower going, but there was two empty bowls on the coffee table. It wasn’t like Peter had a thriving social life, so he could only assume that one of the bowls was Lydia’s, which made him all kinds of anxious because Peter was cunning and Lydia was a genius and together… well, that was just a combination that could cause all sorts of havoc. Not to mention, Scott would go up the bloody wall if he found out. And Stiles might actually have a fit.

He listened carefully, and could hear the sound of fainting breathing coming from Cora’s old room. Without a thought, he opened the door and nearly fell over.

Lydia’s hair was fanned out on the pillow, and a giant wolf was asleep soundly next to her. When the door opened, his head shot up, looking Derek right in the eye. Peter rarely took on full wolf form, but it was unmistakable to Derek because he was nearly the spitting image of Talia. When Peter saw him, he made a low growl, making Lydia turn in her sleep, grumbling softly.

Peter got up slowly, carefully stepping over Lydia so he was on her other side, before laying back down, with his front paws resting over her legs.

“Peter,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow. “go back to sleep.”

Derek thought his jaw might actually fall off, because his uncle was in bed and protecting a seventeen year old girl who had nearly torn him a new one only a week ago. And she was aware of it. And she was absently threading her fingers through the fur on his head, and he was nuzzling into her hand contently.

“I- I just thought I’d let you know,” he said slowly and quietly, so as not to wake Lydia. “we got him. You should be okay.” The wolf huffed, which Derek took for acknowledgment.

Closing the door behind him, cringing when it clicked shut, Derek blew the air out of his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what was more disturbing; seeing them in bed together, or seeing how comfortable they were in each other’s presence. Mental flashes of the utter chaos that might ensue made him shut his eyes and pray that there was something other than bread in the house, because waking up Peter with his ‘inability to cook toast without recreating Hiroshima’ might lead to a ‘talk’ and while he was oddly happy both Peter and Lydia had found companionship, he couldn’t help but feel Beacon Hills’ answer to Bonnie and Clyde were asleep in his spare room, and it was far too early for that.


End file.
